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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588563">there’s a place where lovers go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchasslowry/pseuds/bitchasslowry'>bitchasslowry</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Hockey RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(sort of), Angst, Boys In Love, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Song Lyrics, World Juniors | World Junior Ice Hockey Championships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:15:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchasslowry/pseuds/bitchasslowry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels cold and empty and alone. He’s numb. And not a good kind of numb either. It’s the kind that makes you want nothing more than to go home and never show your face to the world again, to forget everyone and everything until you feel even an ounce of confidence again. </p>
<p>But he can’t even focus on that sensation, because the silver of his medal feels like it’s laughing at him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dylan Cozens/Bowen Byram</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>there’s a place where lovers go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheifsforlife/gifts">scheifsforlife</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If you know anyone in this story, please turn away now for my own sanity. If you don’t want to listen then don’t say I didn’t warn you. </p>
<p>Inspired by Lonesome Town by Ricky Nelson</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>There's a place where lovers go<br/>To cry their troubles away</i>
</p>
<p>Dylan can’t sleep. His mind is racing and the glow of Edmonton outside his window feels like flood lights blazing hot down on him. He can’t help but feel like the whole world is watching, half taking pity on him and the other half wishing he’d never left Whitehorse in the first place. </p>
<p>He feels cold and empty and alone. He’s numb. And not a good kind of numb either. It’s the kind that makes you want nothing more than to go home and never show your face to the world again, to forget everyone and everything until you feel even an ounce of confidence again. </p>
<p>But he can’t even focus on that sensation, because the silver of his medal feels like it’s laughing at him. </p>
<p>The self pity wears thin about an hour into staring at the stucco on the ceiling when there’s the gentlest of knocks at his door, preceded by a tiny chorus of sniffles. </p>
<p>
  <i>And they call it 'Lonesome Town'<br/>Where the broken hearts stay</i>
</p>
<p>Bowen is there in sock feet with the scratchy hotel blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His eyes are puffy and red like their jerseys and Dylan’s heart breaks into a million more pieces. </p>
<p>He swallows thick, rocks back and forth and tries to hold back even more tears than what dampened his jersey and froze on the ice. “I’m so sorry, Dylan.”</p>
<p>It’s barely an even sentence, filled with cuts and pauses so that Bowen doesn’t break down completely. But when Dylan tugs him into his chest and shuts the door behind him, he can’t help but let the tears flow once again into the shoulder of his best friend. </p>
<p>It feels like the closest thing to home that he’s going to get for a while. </p>
<p>
  <i>You can buy a dream or two<br/>To last you all through the years</i>
</p>
<p>They stay like that for a while; Dylan petting Bowen’s hair and choking back his own tears, eventually tucking his face beside the shorter boy’s and telling him that he has nothing to apologize for. </p>
<p>“You did so good. <i>You’re</i> so good, Bowen. Don’t forget that,” he says, almost too quiet but just loud enough for Bowen to notice and clutch on to Dylan even tighter. </p>
<p>There’s a wet spot on Dylan’s shirt from his friend’s tears, but he could care less. Bowen’s here with him and that’s all that matters. </p>
<p>He presses a feather light kiss to Bowen’s temple which makes the blond let out a little whine and take in a deep breath. </p>
<p>“What’s going to happen to us, Dylan?”</p>
<p>
  <i>And the only price you pay<br/>Is a heart full of tears</i>
</p>
<p>Dylan will be in Buffalo. Bowen will be in Denver. And Kirby, bless his heart, is already in Chicago. Not exactly walking distance or even a reasonable train ride. It pains Dylan to know that this boy, <i>his</i> boy, will be so far away from him. </p>
<p>The blanket is on the floor now, Bowen's face is hot on Dylan’s chest and it’s all too much for them. </p>
<p>Dylan pulls back slightly and takes a moment to lose himself in Bowen’s eyes; the same ones that he fell in love with back when he was fourteen. Before he really even knew what love is. </p>
<p>Now at nineteen, he knows. For him, love is Bowen Byram. </p>
<p>“I’ll always be here, Bo. No matter what. Alright?”</p>
<p>They nod to each other and brush noses, Dylan’s significantly larger than Bowen’s, but it’s just another thing that the shorter boy will infinitely remember Dylan by. </p>
<p>
  <i>Goin' down to Lonesome Town<br/>Where the broken hearts stay</i>
</p>
<p>When their lips press together, it’s wet and salty from the tears that once streamed down their faces not even thirty seconds ago. Dylan still holds Bowen close around the waist and the latter clutches onto the soft fabric of his lover’s shirt. </p>
<p>Usually their kisses are exciting and frantic, giggles and lots of teeth as they push their way into each other’s rooms. </p>
<p>Bowen would be on his back underneath Dylan who would be biting yet another mark into his neck by now, but they’re still in the foyer on Dylan’s hotel room pressing soft kisses onto each other. </p>
<p>It’s a weak attempt at making everything okay, but at least it brings them some sort of comfort. Dylan gently traces a C over top of Bowen’s chest where it sat not even three hours ago. </p>
<p>
  <i>Goin' down to Lonesome Town<br/>To cry my troubles away</i>
</p>
<p>They break away and Dylan takes Bowen’s hand in his, dragging them over to his bed and flipping the covers up. He slides in, only in his t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with Bowen wearing nearly the same thing. </p>
<p>The blond snuggles in after him and immediately gravitates towards his boyfriend, throwing an arm over his torso. It feels like a security blanket for Dylan.</p>
<p>Like a reminder that no matter what happens in his life, there’s always going to be that arm there. Always that sweet boy from Cranbrook at his side making his heart skip a beat nearly every day. </p>
<p>Bowen lets out little puffs of air from his nose and he slowly falls into what Dylan can only hope is a peaceful sleep. </p>
<p>It probably won’t be. </p>
<p>
  <i>In the town of broken dreams<br/>The streets are filled with regret</i>
</p>
<p>They have their whole careers ahead of them, but it still hurts. They’re the best losers, to the United States of all people. But you can’t dwell on the past, his mom would say. </p>
<p>So he thinks about the future. Raising the cup with his teammates, proper NHL games, the fans in Buffalo cheering them on, playing next to some of his idols growing up….</p>
<p>Seeing the last name Cozens scribed in block letters on the back of an Avs jersey, directly underneath a tuft of blond hair. </p>
<p>Dylan doesn’t care if he never puts up a single point in The Show. He doesn’t care if he has to go back to school for sports management just to stay in the hockey world. </p>
<p>Just as long as he gets to see that and a gold ring on a chain hanging around Bowen’s neck then he can die a happy man. </p>
<p>Gold. Not silver. </p>
<p>The pain is temporary, it will pass in time. </p>
<p>
  <i>Maybe down in Lonesome Town<br/>I can learn to forget</i>
</p>
<p>Maybe they can learn to forget.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>in case i don’t see you again; good afternoon, good evening and good night</p>
<p>find me on tumblr @bitchasslowry</p></blockquote></div></div>
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